


Just Friends?

by yunnikakennings



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-10-10 23:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10449525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunnikakennings/pseuds/yunnikakennings
Summary: Simon and Baz as childhood...friends? (Also known as Simon has a temporary experimental relationship with Baz to discover his sexuality) This was inspired by this song below:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InxwGZ_PgC4The plotline is really messy but I hope you enjoy the story anyway ((;





	1. Chapter 1

**Simon**

It's been ages since we last came here but school ended early today and it's boring going to Baz's house after school everyday, so I dragged him here. He declared playing on swings beneath him since we're already fifteen but honestly, is it so bad to just be a kid once in a while? Apparently not, since now he seems to be enjoying this way more than I do, obviously, seeing as he's the one on the swing. 

"Higher!" he giggles. He giggles (pulling a giggle from Baz is next to impossible). I frown, shoving him harder, flinging him higher into the cool winter air. Clutching the chain of the swing tightly he squeals with delight.  
"Higher!". Indignant, I gather my annoyance and imagine it flowing into my hands as strength. I push his sweaty back. "Ew! You're sweaty! You stink!" I call into the cold biting wind. He laughs, light and hearty.  
“Higher! Come on Snow! Even my sister would be able to push harder than that.” Exasperated, I kick the swing with my boots. He flies. Literally. Off the swing. Face-flat in the snow. He stays there, starfish on the winter ground. Morgana, he's hurt? I shout, rushing forward. He rolls over on his back, slowly. A smile slides over his face, teeth perfect. His arms make a snow angel on the ground. Creates wings for himself. His black hair lies tousled, contrasting the white glimmer of the snow. I notice how his complexion is flawless for the first time since we became friends and my heart startles in my chest. I stare, maybe a little to blatantly. "You're in a daze", he interrupts my thoughts, silver eyes searing. I feel heat rush to my cheeks. Stupid thoughts. I whirl away. Close my eyes. Wish my thoughts away. My mind rebels against me. I distract myself, mutter under my breath, "You still owe me a favour anyway. I swung you for the entire time."  
"What did you say?" he hollers. I turn back to face him. Our eyes lock. "I said you still owe me a favour." I mock-pout. Arms akimbo. "Your turn to push me now Ha.  
I clamour onto the swing eagerly. "You ought to push me extra high for all that effort I swung you with just now!" His eyes are wicked. "Oh? Are you sure? Because the last time I used my best effort swinging you, you were...” he paused dramatically, "absolutely...petrified? Weren't you?” He smothers a snort, amused by his own humour. "Merlin Baz! That was when I was eight, I've overcome my fear of heights since ages ago!" His eyebrows arch up, hiding beneath his long fringe. "Well, then as you wish Sir Simon!" and he pulls the swing as far as he can, the chains of the swing straining with tension. My stomach lurches and my heart leaps with trepidation. My eyes close instinctively, hands clutching the chains as though my life depended on it. "Well you aren't afraid eh?” I can hear the smirk is his voice, "well then.".  
My.  
Heart.  
Trips.  
Stumbles and falls.  
And crashes.  
I can't even feel my heart anymore. "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaz!" I wail, as I fly into the sky. His hands catch me as I swing backwards, pushing me even higher into the sky. Scared.  
I am scared, scared, scared. So scared I can focus on nothing else but the precarious height I am swinging at. I can't even feel Baz's hand as I soar. Fear catches me in its arms. "Baz! Where are you? Stop me! Please!" I start to kick in the air, legs too touch the ground. My palms are cold and sweaty loosens my grip on the chains. My vision blurs.  
Slippery. Slippery. Panic diffuses into my sweat. "Baz! I'm losing my grip! I'm going to fall!"  
A flash of black. A streak of grey. His hands grip the chains. "B-baz" I squeak. My voice catches. My mouth gapes. The terror of the sheer height I was swinging at swirling around me, suffocating me. The swing stops. I fall forward.  
He catches me.  
With.  
His.  
Lips.  
My head is heavy and I can't even comprehend what is-  
His arms slide round me, fingers curling into my skin. Holds me tight as I fall on him. My heart is still thudding from the fear of falling.  
We sink into the snow. He breaks the kiss, pulls back. Looks me in the eye. "Simon?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Baz**

Aleister Crowley, what have I done? He stares at me, goldfish mouth gaping and I flinch a little. Perhaps I misread the slight flush of his cheeks, the sidelong glances in the hallways, the twitch in his eye when he said he liked Agatha? Amber eyed, porcelain Agatha with her Rapunzel hair and pretty ballet twirls, I twist my lips into a shape resembling a smile. Stand up. Dust the snow of my trousers like I hadn’t just thrown my heart out for him to catch. (Which, obviously, our dear oblivious Oliver Snow missed and let it land on the cold ice floor of a chilly winter evening.) Tug on a smile. What can I say? Sorry Snow, didn’t mean to steal your first kiss right of your virgin pink lips? I spin around, offer my hand “Snakes alive, I’m sorry Snow, it was a joke. Neither of us like boys in that way, do we?” My mind cringes a little. I am gay after all. Not that my not-quite-boyfriend best friend has to know. He doesn’t take it, just sits there, flakes of snow covering the sun-browned freckles on his cheek. And I can’t help but feel the urge to grab a handful of snow and throw it at his face just to ease the awkward tension between us. Then lick the snow off his face. Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.

 

 **Simon**

“Snakes alive, I’m sorry Snow, it was a joke. Neither of us like boys in that way, do we?” I sit, eyes on him, how the smile he pulls on masks his emotions like a curtain, shades the windows to his soul. Girls. Boys. Likes. Loves. Adolescent crushes. Lovers. Friends. Where did we draw the line? It was like he crossed an invisible line drawn across our minds and now there was no going back. Lingering hugs. Not so accidental touches. A not quite innocent gaze. And now he’s gone and dragged the matter out in the open from the back of our minds and I can’t shove it back in. Merlin, Baz, what have you done?

 

 **Baz**

“Oi. Anyone home?” I reach out to poke his forehead. And then he grabs my hand. Drags me back into the snow. Glances furtively around the empty playground. “Baz.” He tugs my ear to his lips, whispers “What if we’re, you know, um, not straight?” Aleister almighty, I jerk away from him, “Excuse me?” How does he know, how does he know, did he guess? Heart pounding, cheeks flushing, I tilt my head, try to look purposeful as I draw aimless patterns in the fallen snow, “What, you mean what would happen if we both slouch like you do?” I taunt.

 

 **Simon**

“What, you mean what would happen if we both slouch like you do?” I fume a little, reach out with my ungloved left hand, “You know what I mean, Baz. I meant if we were,” I lean forward, “like this.”

 

 **Baz**

And then he kisses me. Or tries to at least.

 

 **Simon**

And the he dodges, swift as a Pitch on a football Pitch. I land face first in the snow. Epic, Snow, epic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Baz**

“Got no one else to kiss Snow?” I bite out. A twinge of satisfaction ripples through me as he flushes, _he prefers me_ , he _wants_ me. And then I try to perish the thought because Father says- Father says-

I scowl, let haughtiness erase all hesitation, flick my hair out of my eyes, draw myself up.

Pitches aren’t gay.

 

**Simon**

I puff out my cheeks and huff, my breath swirling out like that of a dragon’s in the cold December air, “No one has to know, Baz. We could just- could just pretend for a month. Here- no one would come here- especially not in the evening. Then we’d know, wouldn’t we? Then we’d know for sure that we’re straight and we can both move on. It’s just a-just a- it’s just an experiment. It doesn’t have to mean anything at all.” I can feel the blood flooding my cheeks. Why does he have to be such an arse about it?

He started it.

He kissed me first.

He was my first ever anything.

 

**Baz**

Just an experiment. So I’m a four week long sample. Like a 30-day Spotify trial.

Except shorter.

Free.

Easy.

Temporary.

To know for sure that we’re straight. Well. I know for sure I’m not. So what’s in it for me, Snow? What’s in it for me?

So we can both move on. Him with Agatha. Me with the shadows lurking in the alley behind Nico Petty’s Bar, kissing the shapes of older boys I don’t even catch a proper glimpse of, running my hands through the hair of nameless blokes, hiding my sin in the cloak of midnight.

There’s nothing to gain from this. I turn, tug his hair lightly. “Stop it Snow. You’re taking the joke too far.”

Because if I cross that line, it’d be stepping into forbidden territory. Because our friendship would never be the same again. Because having an experiment like that could end in burning flames or paradise.

He sits there biting is lips, red from the cold, poking his tongue at the side of his cheek.

Blue eyes downcast.

Golden hair mussed.

And I wonder if he would ever guess that he was never my first. I wonder if he knows I lost my first kiss to a girl last year, in an attempt to straighten myself out. I wonder if he knows that she is nothing to me now.

A mere experiment.

Something forgotten.

Something used.

I wonder if he'll rip my heart out, the way I twisted hers.

He glances up at me, shrugs a little, blinks at a hint of tears and stands shakily. Tries to leave the scene of crime. And I know I should let him leave. Stay aside and admire him from afar. Stop tainting him with ideas of unnatural love.

But he lets his hand fall, and I catch it.

_Stop, Baz._

Because I’m weak. Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself.

_Stop it._

Because he’s standing right here with his tawny skin and his moles and I can still remember the taste of his lips.

_Stop._

“Simon,” I say, voice quivering, verging on a plead. His hand hangs limply in mine and I grasp it like a life float because it is. _It is_. Simon anchors me to the world like no one else can. And I can’t let this go. He squeezes my hand hesitantly and I nod my head, tweak my lips into a smile. He pulls at my arms and I fall forward a bit. Or maybe I’m swooning-it’s not beneath me. (Snow is. Beneath me. Always. By at least three inches.) And then _he_ kisses _me_.

And I know- I know this would end in flames because if anything, Simon is a fire and I am a heap of coal, or tinder or just a box of matches. And I know better than him that this is probably an ephemeral limerence if anything at all. I know that it won’t last but I’d still do it anyway, because I’d rather burn out than fade away and I’d much rather feed his flames with my soul then to have never been engulfed in the heat of his passion at all.

I’d still jump into this mess- fat in the fire be as it will.

 

**Simon:**

“Simon.”

Voice quaking.

Confidence gone.

Not a nickname.

Not Snow.

_Simon._

I feel my heart slip, skid down the slippery slope of love, of want, of _need_.

A small voice protests at the back of my mind.

_Stop, Simon._

Reminds me of Agatha and the promise of a perfect fairytale.

_Stop it._

Warns me against the road not tread by most.

_Stop._

But I just shove them back into the list of things not to think about. Because it’s a secret. And no one would ever know. And it’s just- it’s just an experiment, no strings attached.

It’s just a week to get it out of our systems.

Fix this.

Confirm that we’re normal. Because we _are_. _We are_.

Except kissing him is as easy as breathing.

Right as rain.

And we fit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and rushed! )): it's just that I suddenly had the sudden temptation to write a chapter on the hour long bus journey.

**Baz**  
  
Scribbling out lines and lines of poetry analysis only to strike them all out with a slash of my pen, I sit here, dark ink blotting out my thoughts on the paper. If only the thoughts in my mind could be smeared over so easily.

I have a month.

A month with Snow, for him (and supposedly for me as well), to figure out if we are or aren't  (gay, I mean, he's not even considering our compatibility, he's considering whether or not he's gay).

A month before everything returns to normal.

Because this isn't serious.

Because the last day of the month looms like the expiry date of our "relationship".

Because to Simon, this whole experiment is just like flipping on  light switch to illuminate a dark room, to see if it's what suits him (but he obviously isn't the same as I am, or why would he even claim to like Agatha then?).

So there I am in the middle of the room, stuck in a rut I'll never escape, caged in by the very definition of my sexuality.

And when he's done, when he's tired, when he's bored, he'll flip the switch and leave the room. Leave the room for good.

And I'll be there alone in the dark. 

Waiting.

Always.

Forever.

For him.

But he'll never come back.

I lean back and stare blankly at the ceiling, trying to pull a curtain over the thoughts running riot in my mind.

I close my eyes and fall asleep.

I dream of golden brown curls and eyes that hold more life than I'd ever have thought possible.

I dream of nameless boys and hands that reach for me in the dark.

I dream of the impossibility of us.

And my poetry analysis is turned in a day late, with crinkles that hint at the possibility of tearstains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is welcome! ^^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of palmistry because I do kind of harbor an interest in such things ahaha ><  
> It's the love line she's referring to by the way.  
> Anywayyy hope you enjoy though it's terribly short ^^ ~~~~~~~

**Simon**

Staring blankly at the lines etched into my right palm, I press my thumb lightly on the faint crisscrosses that trace the topmost trail that my mother once noted.

And I can almost her mellow voice, the humor it carried, the comfort it brought, the way it used to lull me to sleep with folk songs. I was too young to remember much else about her.

But they said there was something special about the way she loved. The way she poured her being out for those she cared about. Even for those who didn't deserve it. Even for my father. 

“Potential obstacles in your relationships may trip you up, Simon, maybe you'll be like me” she’d whispered, a sigh echoing her words as she squinted into my sweaty palm, “maybe you’ll have difficulty searching for The One. Maybe she’ll cross your path and you’d miss it the first time, with no inkling that you’re both meant to be. Or maybe you’d find her but have difficulty holding on. But remember, Simon, love comes in all shapes and sizes but once you find it clutch it tight always, _always_ , my rosebud boy, never let it go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave the rest of her speech about love for a later part in the story *twirls away*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> honestly speaking, this chapter feels a little off to me, I mean, somehow it just doesn't seem to flow as smoothly as I'd like it to and I don't know why. However, I've been holding on to this chapter for quite some time, editing it as much as I can but it just doesn't sound right. But anyway, I just thought I'd upload it and maybe when I get a better idea of how to link the chapters together, I may add another chapter between the previous one and this one or edit this chapter to make it better.  
> Hope you enjoy it anyway (:

**Simon**  
  
Having the skies pour down buckets of rain on the rare occasion that I forget to bring my umbrella might just very well be the unluckiest thing that has happened to me all week.  
  
Because now I’m pressed shoulder to shoulder under the same umbrella as Baz Pitch, with Pen and Ags sharing an umbrella a little distance behind us and I know the current shade of my face would probably put a tomato to shame. Thank heavens the umbrella he brought protects both of us from their view-albeit his umbrella is arguably too small to shelter a pair.  
  
I try to subtly inch myself a little away to put a gap between us but this exposes my left arm to the downpour and I sneeze from the cold.  
  
“You’ll get drenched if you stand that far away, Snow,” he warns, tugging lightly on the sleeve of my hoodie, coaxing me away from pelting rain, back under the umbrella, “and anyway, I don’t bite, do I?” he waggles his eyebrows animatedly as he smirks.  
  
That git. My hands instinctively reach to my neck to check that my scarf is still there, shielding the incriminating mark just above my collar from the eyes of the public.

He knows I remember. 

His lips against mine in the dim light of the sunset. Cool lips lingering on my temple, a feather light brush against my eyelids-his warm breath on my lashes, a peck on my nose, before finding their way down to my neck.   
  
My cheeks burn even in the cold, drafty wind (thank heavens they can’t see us) and I start to protest before he wraps his arm around my shoulder, long arms draping me in his warmth, fingers drumming lightly on my arm.    


  
**Baz**  
  
Crowley, all I did was to just pull him closer so the rain didn’t get him and now he’s all flustered (yes it was partially my fault for making that joke but it was mild, really), blustering and stuttering something about Penelope and Agatha catching us in the act and if he doesn’t stop I might just-. (Aleister almighty, Pitch, kissing him in front of your friends even while their view is blocked would be plain idiocy on your part).  
  
“Snow, I’m just holding you close so we don’t get wet, yeah? We’re not doing anything scandalous, no worries,” I deadpan.  
  
But that probably made it worse because he flushes redder that he already is, his freckles disappearing under the crimson shade of mortification.  
  
“No-Baz-I didn’t-we didn’t.”  
  
“Hm,” I hum nonchalantly and look away, trying to block my thoughts out but Simon bloody Snow just keeps rattling on and on and-

  
  
**Simon**  
  
My brain is just full of thoughts of yesterday, fumbling hands feeling for each other, desperate lips crashing and the constant fear of being caught even while hidden by the brick walls of the playground and I just-  
  
I rake my hand through my hair try not to worry myself silly, only to find out I’ve apparently been stammering all my thoughts out loud to Baz and I just want to dash out like a maniac into the rain and dig a hole and hide away from Baz who is currently sporting an amused glint in his eyes and lips twitching with mirth.  
  
“Shhh,” he presses his index finger to my lips to shush me as we pad on.  
  
“I just-“  
  
“Hush.”  
  
“I worry-“  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Simon,” his face breaks into a giant grin, all crafty, a full-blown plotting, shit-eating grin, as he spins me round to face him.  
  
“Baz?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
And he leans in and plants his lips on mine, in the showers of cool February rain, with our feet in a puddle and with only his umbrella shading us from the eyes of Pen and Ags.  
  
I press my palms against his chest and make a half-hearted attempt to push him away.  
  
I open my mouth to remind him of our friends behind us (and that just makes it worse- or better- because he just takes that opportunity to deepen the kiss and clash our teeth together)

I try, really, I do, to get a grip on reality and stop him.  
  
But he’s here with his slate grey eyes that match the shades of the stormy skies above us.  
  
He’s here with the woody smell of books which blends nicely with the scent similar to that of earl grey tea into one that’s uniquely Baz.  
  
He’s here with his smile that teases against my lips and lithe fingers that curl into the spot behind my ears that he knows I like.  
  
And I forget to breathe.  
  
I forget to stop him.  
  
I forget.

I forget.

I forget.

Maybe it wasn’t unlucky I left my umbrella after all.  


 

 **Baz**  
  
And I lean in and kiss him, out in the open (but empty, street), in the pouring February rain and I smile a little because maybe I’d risk anything to have his lips on mine.

But not at his expense, so I pull back quickly, before we grab their attention (and suspicion) but he grabs me by my collar, yanks me down to meet him eye-to-eye and he kisses me, pushing himself a little forward and I almost lose my balance, fumbling to keep my grip on the umbrella.

And I let myself clutch to that fleeting hope for a moment that maybe, maybe he likes me back. That maybe when we kiss, he feels it too. Feels the want, the yearning, the need.

“Oi, Snow, stop. They’ll find out,” I hiss (not that I want to stop, I could kiss him forever) and he jerks back, eyes wide, lips parted, gasping for breath and he grabs my arm and hurries me on, picking up his pace.

 

**Penelope**

Those two honestly seemed a little close there (I swear, I saw their feet face each other for a moment) but then Agatha had to start bickering about my stomping in puddles (“These are new stockings, Penny!”) so I was distracted and when I turned back, they were off hurrying on into the rain as before, like nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is welcome as always~~ (how to improve >< etcetc.)  
> (ooh and I started typing a soulmate AU too but I'm not even half done oops)  
> (*asks self* "what did you do during the holiday?" *reflects* "hmm. I've typed out a few short fics and updated my chaptered fics" *glares at self* "work. I mean work. what work have you done?" *awkward silence*)
> 
> oh and also, I've been meaning to ask for some time but am I the only one who thinks Sam Riley might fit the role of Baz?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I'm back haha sorry I'm late  
> wrote this during project work class and in the bus :P  
> hope you enjoy!

**Baz**

 

“You did that on purpose,” he whispers, blue eyes like fire in the dimming street lights, lips pursed to trap a smile.

“I did that on purpose,” I agree, voice hoarse beside his left ear, brushing my cheek against the spatter of moles, “but isn’t that the whole point, you wanted to find out if you were gay didn’t you?” and I let my head dip into the crook of his neck and he shudders in response, a tremor through his frame.

“You said you wanted this,” I let out a huff of warm breath against his broad shoulders and he grips his arms tighter, one around my neck and another around my waist, tugging me closer to his warmth.

“Didn’t you?” I let my lips fall open just along his earlobe, nipping gently, canines grazing the tender skin and a whimper escapes him, barely audible, as he tilts his head, his wet mop of curls trickling raindrops along his ear.

I did. I did, I always have. I’d always wanted it, whatever ‘it’ was, anything with you, your company, your friendship, your romance, and the lines kept blurring for me till all I was left with was a colossal mess, heart fragmented, overflowing with the memories of you, thoughts of you, feelings for  you.

Maybe I’ve been collecting bits of you all these years, subconsciously at first, trying to capture the moments I’ve spent with you through my eyes, the snort of your laughter while your mouth was disgustingly crammed with scones, the way the majestic deep blue of the sea and azure blue of the cloudless skies that summer on the beach were no match for the blue of your eyes, the way you worry your lips between your teeth on those days we spent on that dreadful project Miss Possibelf assigned us that winter.

“Don’t you?” I whisper, tongue darting along the edges of his ear, tasting rain and a tinge of cinnamon icing powder, the dolt must have stained himself with those cupcakes he was gorging earlier. God, it’s like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you’d like to slip the tongue,

I guess I’ve given in to collecting these memories, to store them away in my mind, letting them burrow deep into the cracks of my heart. For the day you choose someone else. For the day you leave. For the day all I’m left with are empty arms clutching at thin air, at a dream that once was.

Trying to etch the prints of your fingers upon my skin, dragging us both together skin on skin, a frenzy-an erratic racing of two thumping hearts. Trying to burn the taste of you along the ridges of my lips. Trying to memorize the rumble of your throat when my hands slip lower, beneath.

“Will you?” I pause, I lift my gaze to meet his, a catastrophe of blue and grey, a spinning hurricane of emotions sucking us both its vortex.

And for a second, I believe he nods.

_Will you still want me when this is over?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> constructive feedback is welcome as always (;  
> btw is anyone from Singapore?   
> oh and also do you all want smut in the later chapters? (I'm not sure if that's appropriate for their age though, they're around 15 but I thought it was suitable in this context of experimenting) (another thing to note is I may not be good at it-as you can probably tell from the kissing scenes but yep) so thoughts..?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry with Agatha. No pun intended (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello (: I haven't updated this for so long cos life just got in my way. My holidays are ending this week though, so I thought maybe I should type something out or I probably won't get to for a long time since this year is bound to be hectic. Anyway, I'm not sure if you all still remember the plot but here's a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it (:

**Baz**

Chemistry class is probably the worst period in my timetable. Don’t get me wrong, I love the subject, the experiments we have to complete for our year-end exam aren’t too difficult so long as you pay attention in class and follow the procedures as instructed by Miss Possibelf- both of which though, unfortunately, are rather impossible to do when sitting behind Snow.

I’m not even complaining about his clumsy ways which are distracting in itself (he once titrated far more Potassium Permanganate than necessary and the whole conical flask of liquid turned a rich purple sending him into a panic, so he elbowed a beaker of hot water that only narrowly avoided scalding Thomas). It’s just, he sits right next to _her_ and their lab partners. I _hate_ it.

During theory class, she twirls her hair while thinking and he gazes sideways at her, gaze shy, admiring.

Practical classes are worse.

More often than not, she leans over his arm to adjust the apparatus because Snow can’t manage even the Bunsen burner and he just blushes and stutters thanks, grinning when she succeeds.

(I really want to conveniently torch her hair with the lighter sometimes.)

 

**Simon**

Chemistry is probably the most awkward, most stressful period in my timetable. Especially the practical classes.

In this month alone, three out of nine practical classes feature having some sort of accident, a spillage or broken beakers or some very close calls.

At least my partner helps.

Agatha Wellbelove is at least decent in, or if not, even good at chemistry. I’m guessing the standard procedure of carrying out the experiment is the least of her worries when doing lab work with me- making sure I don’t somehow set the room on fire or scald and poison someone is probably what she’s more concerned with.

It kind of sucks sometimes when you know your lab partner would probably do so much better by themselves than with your help but she’s nice about it though.

She’s pretty too in a very classic way.

Blonde hair, doe eyes.

So I feel myself flush when I’m near her, sometimes, when she’s reaching over to tweak with the apparatus- in part because I feel incompetent but mostly because she makes me feel shy sometimes.

I’m pretty sure at least half of the boys in class fancy her to some extent.

Baz though, constantly scowls at me during Chemistry.

Or at Agatha.

Or maybe at the ruckus I somehow always manage to make.

I don’t know.

Maybe the noises I make when I’m rough with the apparatus distracts him- I do try to be gentle though, really, but it’s difficult when you’re under pressure.

He doesn’t though.

All his experiments are completed with ease- the movement of his hands precise, his measurements accurate as he jots his observations neatly on the worksheet, handwriting impeccably cursive as always.

I glance at him again.

He’s peering at the measuring cylinder at eye level, his eyes focused, his brows frowning slightly.

I grin slightly.

Ever so serious.

I wish Baz could be my lab partner sometimes.

Standing up straight again, Baz catches my eye and his lips twitch.

“Need help, Snow?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback (constructive criticism especially) is always welcome. Do tell me if you spot typos too, (: cos this was typed at night and without a beta.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback and constructive criticism welcome (:


End file.
